


for those about to rock (we salute you)

by Beenzino (Gourgeist)



Series: still not getting any [1]
Category: Block B, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Battle of the Bands, Bitter Exes, Gen, M/M, Not Quite Maybe Never Relationships?, One-Sided Attraction, Past Relationship(s), Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, lapslock, only slightly tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-21 13:11:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6052822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gourgeist/pseuds/Beenzino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>yoongi is protective over nothing, namjoon is sensitive over everything and everyone else just wants to win.</p>
            </blockquote>





	for those about to rock (we salute you)

**Author's Note:**

> this is so self-indulgent, im sorry. but expect more of this au because? bands.  
> (title is from an ac/dc song)

yoongi thinks their band is dysfunctional.

whether its the quirky, lovable kind of dysfunction you find in bad college humor romcoms or the destructive, drives-you-to-drink kind, he's not sure. but, he thinks idly as he watches their trio of guitarists get in another shouting match over nothing, they're definitely _some_ kind of dysfunctional.

they don't need this, really. they're twenty minutes from their set and now half the room is wound up to the point of snapping for no reason other than their frontman, all tall bleach blond hair and pleather clad thighs, is in a shitty mood over a "something" that happened earlier. a "something" he refused to explain to anyone in great detail but a "something" that yoongi suspected had to do with the loud, obnoxious frontman of the rival band that's set to perform before them tonight.

in fact, he _knows_ it has something to do with said frontman, since namjoon bristles whenever he passes by their dressing room door -- _it's not even a fucking dressing room, if yoongi is being honest. it's barely more than a spare storage room with some old couches and other furniture crammed into it. but beggars can't be choosers._ \-- smirk plastered on his face like it's tattooed there. he's doing it to psych them out and yoongi knows it, their manager seokjin knows it, the rest of their members know it.

the only person who doesn't seem to is namjoon.

"you have really shitty taste, dude," jungkook hums, drumsticks balanced between his fingers and eyes trained on the floor. namjoon corrects him forcefully -- _former taste_ \-- and jungkook shrugs. _potato, po-tah-to_. yoongi thinks "former taste" doesn't make much sense.

seokjin always somehow manages to hide his irritation with their general, constant stupidity behind a perfectly crafted mask of indifference. but yoongi can tell by the slight downward twitch of his eyebrows and thin set line of his lips that he's seriously considering throwing namjoon out the nearest availabe window. "namjoon..." the oldest male starts slowly, warning weaving through his voice, but the bassist is still steaming. so seokjin tries again: " _namjoon_..."

" _what_?"

"sit down and take a breather. _now_ ," seokjin waves his hand around the room but it looks more like he's flailing to yoongi. "you're making everyone else nervous, genius. get a grip already." and finally, it seems to sink in through all the hair bleach and irrational emotions that currently make up kim namjoon because he stands stark still in the centre of the room, fingers curling and uncurling rhythmically. now, with all the anger drained out of his face and body, he looks more like the lanky, uncoordinated geek yoongi knows and maybe kind of is grudgingly fond of. he flexes a muscle in his jaw and uncurls his fingers one last time, spreading them wide like he's trying to expel all the tension from his long, wiry arms.

"i'm calm," namjoon says after a long moment and jin nods in approval. he takes a deep breath and it's almost like he wasn't just blowing through the cramped room like a tornado from hell a second ago because now he's all lopsided smirk and dimple digging into his cheek like a cocky teenager. "i just..." he continues, gesturing airily with his hands. "we need to win today. not just to show that bastard up... okay, mostly for that but --"

hoseok cuts him off with a guffaw, all previous animosity seemingly forgotten. but hoseok is like that: bright and happy and not at all suited for angry rock music in yoongi's humble opinion, yet he makes it work somehow. just like he makes whatever leftover awkwardness there is in the room dissolve. it's like this all the time, disagreements smoothed over by laughter and namjoon's annoying dimple. then somebody says something that's just so peak embarrassing yoongi feels like dying and --

"so you're using us to get back at your ex? wow, namjoonie, and here i thought we meant more to you!" right on cue. taehyung clutches at his chest, right over his heart, and fakes fainting like the main character of some cheesy drama. yoongi rolls his eyes so hard he thinks they're gonna get stuck in the back of his skull. jimin starts giggling, delicate and twinkling, and the room is suddenly warm and happy and they feel like the motley band of brothers they've fashioned themselves to be again.

conversation floods back into them all like water flooding into a basin and the room is alive with excited, breathless chatter. it's the nerves, it always is right before a show, that makes them babble like hyperactive children, makes them tap their fingers on their thighs in impatience, makes jungkook start beating out an strange yet familiar rhythm on the rickety table next to him. yoongi takes an even stranger comfort in the noise, letting it soothe the sudden ball of knots in his stomach as the clock ticks by. 

a stagehand bangs on the door, startling them all into silence, and shouts at them to wrap it up because they're on in five and yoongi feels his stomach lurch like he's on a rollercoaster. the conversation never picks up again -- it goes so quiet yoongi's not sure any of them are even _breathing_ anymore and he can hear the stagehand's boots thump down the hallway, away from their door. anxiety takes root in the keyboardist's stomach, seizing hold of his throat and squeezing it closed, and he looks to namjoon for guidance. seokjin might be their manager but namjoon, namjoon's their frontman. the official, unofficial leader. dealing with sort of thing falls under his job description.

the tall blond runs his tongue along his bottom lip slowly. its a few more agonizing moments before he decides to speak -- everyone looks like they're about ready to faint when he _finally_ opens his mouth again. "alright, guys. it's almost go time," he pauses to glare at the room after someone scoffs -- yoongi decides not to make it known that it was him -- but powers on anyway. "you know what we came to do: to win. i don't think i have to remind you all why we need this so damn badly --"

"because we're broke college students and we need the money and chance at free studio time?" jimin chimes, blinking owllishly in his fake innocence. hoseok swats at the vocalist playfully and namjoon clears his throat.

"so... jimin's not wrong: it's 'cause we're broke. but moreso because we have big dreams -- a goal. a huge fucking goal that we're going to make a reality. so let's get out there and make it happen," the blond holds out his hand palm down, cheeky grin spreading across his face again. "all in?"

taehyung's the first one to move. the bouncy guitarist always is. he slaps his hand on top of namjoon's dramatically, wearing a matching cheeky grin, "aye aye, captain!" 

hoseok is next, closing his fingers over taehyung's hand. then seokjin, jimin and jungkook, each beaming like giddy children at christmas. yoongi's last: he remains idling on the couch for what has to feels like an eternity to the others, if the way they're watching him like hawks is any indication. he's stalling for no other reason than to be dramatic -- its his way, they all know this. so he makes a show of getting up, groaning and stretching like he's been entrenched in that spot for years. jungkook leans over to jimin and whispers not-so-quietly about what an _old man_ yoongi is, how his bones creak like old wooden floorboards, and jimin doesn't even bother to hide his giggles.

"brats," yoongi grumbles, slipping his hand on top of jungkook's, but no one pays him any mind. instead, they all look expectantly at namjoon, who's grinning even _more_ if possible. the frontman takes a deep breath then starts the ritual countdown to their trademark battle cry: _3, 2, 1... bang! tan!_ , then everyone bursts into nervous, hysterical giggles. even yoongi cracks a gummy smile.

someone bangs on the door again, shouting about they better start getting ready, and then the room feels like its thrown into overdrive. jungkook has his drumsticks pressed into his palms like they're an extention of his hands before anyone can blink, taehyung's got the thick, black strap of his borrowed guitar crossing his chest and everyone is tripping over each other to get out the door after they're all ready. yoongi wipes the palms of his hands on his jeans and takes a few deep breaths to calm his nerves. he believes namjoon's pep talk easily enough -- he wouldn't be here if he couldn't find that faith in the tall blond. or in their band in general. but he still finds his heart beating an erratic rhythm in his ears.

especially when he finds himself tucked into the darkness at the base of the ramp leading up to the stage, the hum of cymbol crashes and guitar rifts and angry singing filling his eardrums. _especially_ because that impassioned singing up on stage is coming from the reason for namjoon's earlier freakout. _especially especially_ because what lyrics yoongi _can_ pick out through the din are about _heartbreak_ and _break-ups_ and _beating your ex's ass because fuckin' fuck him, right?_ and the diminuitive keyboardist knows all to well who those lyrics are about. _triple especially_ \-- quadruple? -- because said bassist is _right here_ and convienently _not deaf_ and can hear every word and is more than likey on the verge of freaking out again right now. 

yoongi can't actually see namjoon's face from where he's standing -- the darkness is inky and he's behind the taller male -- but he knows. he knows by the way his shoulders tense, the way his back goes rigid. a vein pulses in his neck, marring otherwise smooth skin, and yoongi reaches up and squeezes the bassist's shoulders as tightly as he can. namjoon isn't good at hiding his emotions, never has been. it makes him a good lyricist, a good performer, channelling emotions and whatnot, but it also makes him vulnerable and sensitive and prone to falling apart. 

and all that said, the shorter male doesn't think you'd need to know much about namjoon to know that he's _pissed_ at the moment. humming, he drops his hands, instead opting to press his cheek against the cool leather of the back of namjoon's jacket, "don't lose your cool now, blondie."

"you don't have to worry about me," namjoon's voice is even, almost monotone, and yoongi doesn't believe him for a damned second. but then he kind of does -- he knows namjoon well enough to know that the frontman isn't going to blow this chance for all of them over some stupid leftover feelings between him and his ex.

yoongi hums again and drops the subject. better to interrogate him after the show than risk psyching him out. they'll deal with it later, have a real heart-to-heart over it. or they could just get really high like they usually do and spend the night watching stupid b-rated movies and playing equally as stupid nintendo games and not dealing with their problems. that's always worked before.

he squeezes namjoon's upper arm one more time for good measure.

their competition is finished now, and stomping down the ramp like a troupe of elephants. yoongi watches their frontman, a tall, equally as bleach blond physical manifestation of boiling rage, lope up namjoon. yoongi wonders if the dude _ever_ stops smirking.

"jiho," namjoon greets, and yoongi can _hear_ the venom in his voice. he thinks anyone can hear it, its so thinly vieled. the opposing frontman's -- jiho's -- smirk widens.

"namjoonie," it's supposed to be a cute nickname -- it was earlier, when taehyung said it -- but it sounds almost threatening when it leaves jiho's mouth. "good luck out there." he pinches namjoon's cheek, pursing his lips into a kissy face. yoongi presses his hands to namjoon's back and feels the muscles tense. he starts humming again, though he's not sure its working.

it _definitely_ isn't because seconds later yoongi feels a growl reverberate through namjoon's chest. sneering, their frontman grabs hold of jiho's wrist and squeezes, blunt nails digging into pale skin but jiho doesn't even flinch. instead, the older male narrows his eyes and yoongi swears on his life the guy looks like he's _enjoying_ it. 

"you're so fuckin' bitter," namjoon snarls, dropping jiho's wrist. disgust is painted accross his face plain as day, and you'd think jiho would take the hint. but no, the older blond chooses to step closer -- too close, yoongi notices, and feels almost compelled to shove him far, far away -- and then they're eye to eye, chest to chest, and the air feels weighted and stale and _they have to be on stage soon_. 

suddenly it feels like someone is trying to crush the fragile bones in his upper arm and yoongi muffles a yelp of pain in namjoon's jacket. he whirls around to find the culprit and is met with wide, fearful eyes. where jungkook came from, yoongi doesn't know, but the young drummer's face is flush with anxiety. yoongi knows why, all too well, and elbows namjoon as _gently_ but urgently as he can. jungkook's probably got the impression of his drumsticks pressed into his palms by now and _they're running out of time_.

_someone_ takes the hint, because jiho casually cards a hand through namjoon's matching blond locks -- did they bleach their hair together? the thought makes yoongi's eyes narrow -- before sauntering away, the rest of his band following behind him, snickering. once they're alone again, namjoon reaches behind him blindly and yoongi tries really hard not to jump at the opportunity to lace their fingers together. he fails. kinda. but he chooses to believe he didn't, even when namjoon squeezes his fingers for reassurance.

"sorry, i'm sorry. i'm okay, really," the bassist says to no one in particular. yoongi takes it, jungkook takes it, they all take it and then it's game faces because they have a battle to win and they're due on stage _right now_.

yoongi only feels at peace with the day when his fingers are finally poised over the keyboard before him. it's not his, another piece of shared equipment for the battle today, but the smoothness of the keys is familiar all the same. it makes it easy to forget the crowd of rowdy (likely high as a kite) showgoers in front of him, all eerily quite with what he hopes is excitement for their set. yoongi kinda wishes he was high too, if only to soothe his rapidly beating heart. damn good common sense that he's not.

jungkook counts them in, exurberant as always, pearly whites on display with a wide grin, and they launch into what might be _the_ most important performance of their musical careers. 

so far.

it _feels_ like its over as soon as its begun, the scream of a guitar and jimin's powerful falsetto washing over the room and yoongi's fingers stop flying over the keys even as the adrenaline in him is still pulsing through his veins. he's breathless, probably looks dishevelled, but he feels so, _so_ good. better than he's ever felt in his life, he's sure. a quick look at the other members and he can tell they feel the same -- cheeks flushed and eyes overbright with the same dazed sort of happiness that yoongi feels right to his bones.

he catches namjoon's eye from across the stage and they share a grin. rival bands feel so far away now, a bitter, forgotten taste in the back of his -- their? -- mouth.

yoongi doesn't know where woo jiho is right now, but he hopes the _bane of namjoon's existence™_ saw all that. just so he knows that that bullshit psych out the leader tactic failed. horribly. because yoongi doesn't think they've even been quite so cohesive during a performance before. ever.

the adrenaline in him makes it hard to focus on anything other than the satisfying feeling of a job well done, even as the host ushers them off stage and they're stripped of the shared equipment that was loaned to them. seokjin is waiting for them in the darkness, face bright and thrilled and the praise that spills from him only serves to make yoongi's head spin with fresh joy. a volunteer argues with jungkook over the kid's drumsticks -- _i'm pretty fuckin' sure these are mine, so i'll be keeping them_ and seokjin swats the kid over the head for swearing -- and the keyboardist genuinely thinks that jungkook might just keel over and die on the spot if anyone actually managed to pry those things from him.

back in their dressing room/closet, there's a surprising array of food laid out on the old table against the wall, but you'd think it was all plastic by the way they avoid eating. the room feels like its buzzing, its hard to do anything but talk over one another and giggle and fiddle with spare guitar straps and jacket zippers and loose threads on torn jeans. taehyung takes it upon himself to throw his sweaty, sweaty body across yoongi's lap in _the_ most unnecessarily dramatic way the redhead has ever seen in his natural born life. but strangely enough, he doesn't mind in the slightest.

"you guys," jimin is saying, voice small but eager and it's hard to believe he was just belting out power notes for how soft he sounds right now. "how do you think we did? i mean -- i know we swore we wouldn't do the speculating thing but... i can't help it."

speculating is bad luck, yoongi thinks. they all think, really. they're not superstituous as a whole but they've found that getting one's hopes up pretty much always leads to giant fucking disappointments. so. speculating is bad luck. they all know this but he still catches the prideful grins that serve as non-verbal responses to the little vocalist's question. jimin grins right back.

there's another band performing now, the last of the night, and after they're done, they have to go back out on stage for the verdict. face the music, if yoongi wanted to take a page from namjoon and seokjin's terrible music pun™ book. but for the first time since they started on this journey, the thought of being graded doesn't feel quite as horribly humiliating. 

it's probably the frenzy of emotions in him talking.

an hour blows by like it's nothing and the redhead finds himself staring out at a sea of unfamiliar faces as the host of the battle talks about good sportsmanship and good performances and a gaggle of other words that aren't _congratulations, bangtan, you've won!_ so they're in one ear and other the other.

woo goddamn jiho and namjoon are barely a foot apart now, each standing in within arms reach, close enough to touch but not close enough to reconcile -- and likely never will be. yoongi is too far away to make sure namjoon stays reigned in, but hoseok takes initiative and shifts enough that he can rest his chin on the taller male's shoulder. they really need to talk about this later.

"the results are in!" the host's voice snaps them all back to reality and the room goes deathly quiet. "and with... wow, _67 points_ out of a total of 100, the winners of today's battle of the bands are... _bangtan_!" 

and then everything feels like a dream.

when reality settles back into him, his fingers are curled around a manila envelope containing their prize money and the address and key to a local studio where they can _finally_ legitimately record something and there are unshed tears in his eyes. tears he hides by skulking behind namjoon's broad shoulders on stage and by tucking himself into his seat in the van ride back to the townhouse they all share. the youngest members shout and chant and congratulate each other the whole way there, the van a cacophony of noise but yoongi barely registers any of it.

what he does register is the pride on everyone's face as they file into shed they've fashioned into a practice room, too wired to change or shower just yet. 

"i can't believe we actually did it," taehyung whispers once they're all sprawled out and coasting on the remaining endorphin high from winning. "like really actually did it... holy shit, you guys." he flinches like he expects the usual smack around the head for swearing courtesy of kim seokjin, but the latter is too busy reading over a neatly stapled collection of papers to care. jin starts rattling off his usual spiel about how they still have a ways to go -- they haven't even totally _won_ yet, _finals are a thing that exist, y'know_ and taehyung waves it all off with mock arrogance -- _they've totally got this under control, don't you worry_. yoongi is inclined to agree. but that's probably the emotions talking. again.

seokjin sighs but there's no real exhaustion to it, how can there be when he's just as excited as the rest of them -- excited enough to ignore jungkook bumming a smoke off namjoon. if they're all being honest, the kid should be home with his parents -- he's got school tomorrow. but yoongi doesn't quite have the heart to tell him to get lost, not now. not after tonight. so he, seokjin and hoseok pointedly ignore the heavy cigarette smoke wafting from where the kid's sitting and how he's not done his homework and definitely shouldn't have a beer in hand when he's not even near crested eighteen. or how namjoon knows all of this but most definitely gave in anyway. 

the frontman features are pinched, almost pained, his eyes on his phone screen and not on jungkook merrily balancing a cigarette between his lips. and yoongi firmly believes namjoon is _too damn sensitive for his own good_ and isn't a good enough actor to hide it from any of them. it was blatantly obvious who texted him and even more obvious how rattled he is when he excuses himself and lopes off to the balcony. so the redhead excuses himself -- with hoseok's blessing -- and follows him.

the blond is spread out on one of their old lounge chairs, smouldering cigarette balanced between long fingers. he looks like something out of a cheesy teen movie about romance and heartbreak and yoongi wonders if its possible to mash _cheesy teen movie_ together with _dysfunctional college humor_ and have the end result be anything other than cringeworthy and bad.

"you should just block his number," the redhead starts, dropping onto the very edge of the chair. namjoon glances over at him before taking a long drag of his cigarette. all this scene would need is some sappy 90s love ballad playing in the background, yoongi thinks, and it'd be _perfect_ top tier cringe.

"yeah, i know."

"so why don't you?" namjoon's hair has always somehow managed to look soft, despite the constant bleaching, so yoongi reaches out and brushes the flyaways from his face. he also does his best to ignore the stupid, mushy smile that spreads across namjoon's face, accentuated by those annoying as every fuck dimples. he's halfway tempted to stop.

he doesn't.

the blond shrugs and says no more. instead, he holds out the smoke for yoongi to take. so he does. he does and he ignores the giggling he can hear coming from somewhere in the vicinity the sliding doors. especially when namjoon's fingers find his wrist and he ends up between long legs, cheek pressed against the thin cotton of the blond's shirt.

"i feel bad, i guess," namjoon is saying in between the uncomfortable pounding of yoongi's heartbeat in his ears. "jiho's not... good at coping." and yoongi tells him, in his best emphatic yet pseudo unaffected monotone, that namjoon is _not_ jiho's emotional punching bag _or_ five AM booty call -- don't think he doesn't know about that either -- and he doesn't actually have to put up with that arrogrant dickhole because he doesn't owe him anything.

namjoon barks an ugly laugh and says that yoongi uses some colorful words. yoongi sits up and punches him in the shoulder, "i mean it, blondie. you two broke up like... a fucking month ago, he needs to get over it and move on already. and if he's that fucking desparate for some ass, there are hookers in the area."

_blondie_ plucks the near finished smoke from between yoongi's lips and puts it out in the ashtray on the balcony floor, "i know, yoongi. i know." of course he knows, namjoon knows fucking everything. except how to keep himself from getting hurt. repeatedly.

which is why yoongi has to do it, "gimme your phone."

"what're you --" the redhead snatches it from him before he can say anything else. he knows the code by heart by now -- namjoon's never remembered to change it. all it takes is a few quick taps and the deed is done, jiho's number the only one on the phone's block list. namjoon groans.

"he's gonna kill me, y'know." 

yoongi shrugs. he gives the phone back and settles against namjoon's chest again, "just let me know if he tries anything and i'll kick his ass for you." and namjoon laughs his dorky, dweeby laugh again. it's kind of comforting in how loud and obnoxious it is, if yoongi is honest. a lot of things about namjoon are oddly soothing and comforting. like the loose, lazy way his arms are wrapped around yoongi's shoulders. or the steady beat of his heart. 

or the way he doesn't question why yoongi's taken to curling up against him like he's a space heater whenever the mood strikes. or why it's becoming marginally more frequent. not that yoongi would explain it if he did ask. he doesn't think namjoon wants a real explanation anyway. because namjoon knows a lot of things, and one of them is that some things are better left unsaid. even though sometimes, sometimes yoongi really wants to ask what he _ever_ saw in someone like jiho and why he doesn't see that same thing in the short keyboardist. but he always, always thinks better of it. nothing good can come, has ever come, from that line of questioning, except a sad smile, dimples and all, and yoongi soothing hurt feelings with weed and alcohol.

because namjoon knows everything and min yoongi only knows so much. and one of the things min yoongi doesn't know is if the true dysfunction lies between the seven members of the band as a whole or just the two of them.


End file.
